That Which I Have Loved
by TheSilentPen
Summary: Quinn Fabray fell in love with Drum Major/Jazz singer Rachel Berry after moving from Carmel High to McKinley. To escape the pain of losing her, Quinn decides: recount every event... every moment before the relationship came to a bitter end. AU
1. Prologue

**A/N: **Welcome to this fanfic, _That Which I Have Loved_, my newest creation. I'm _TheSilentPen_, and I'm new to the Glee fandom. I like to take elements from outer life and pull them into new stories (often AU) and blend them with familiar characters. This fanfiction takes place at William McKinley High in another universe where Band in prominent and Rachel and Quinn, rather than having Glee, have Band as a replacement. Rachel is a Jazz singer, flute player in the marching band, as well as the uptight (and often pain in the butt) Drum Major. Quinn is the new girl from the rival school (Carmel High School) who becomes Rachel's best friend and 'lover.' **A Faberry relationship has already occurred**, this story is a series of flashbacks Quinn is having during her Senior year of High School after she and Rachel have already broken up.

Anyway, let's begin, shall we :)

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**That Which I Have Loved**

_TheSilentPen_

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_Prologue_

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It's been months since I've looked at her the way I used to. Months since she would smile so gently at me and those reddish brown orbs would sparkle with something akin to love.

A love I so desperately wanted and coveted.

But now…

Now we pass each other silently in the halls. She strides past me with nothing in those steely brown eyes. Nothing except a wall of seclusion, a wall that discourages me from coming any closer.

The whistle that she left to me represents the last fragments of the person that I adored. The person who would smile faintly at me in passing, who would defend me whenever I was harmed or shoved.

It represented the Rachel Berry that I loved.

The Rachel that was long dead. The only thing that seemed to be left behind was the slender chain hanging 'round my neck with the glistening piece of metal fastened heavily to the end.

I still remember the faint scent of sandalwood that seemed to perpetually cling to the soft fabrics of her polo shirts or band clothes. How whenever I held her to me, it would pervade my senses and leave me utterly boneless against her.

I remember the soft words she would speak to all of us in passing; how rigid and upright she would become… how dependable she would be in the moments when others needed her most.

I remember confiding in her, the way her soft, almost auburn eyes would reassure me. Would comfort me.

But things have changed so much since then.

She no longer wears those stupid polo shirts or argyle sweaters that I used to abhor and love at the same time. She no longer smiles at me.

She no longer seems to even care about me.

And I… I've moved on to other people over the past couple years. I've tried to stay away.

Yet she remains untainted and determined. She remains steadfast and loyal to only herself.

Perhaps so that I could never break her heart again.

So I'm holding my pen in my hand, hoping to God to relieve this pain from my system. Hoping to Jesus that she never finds these papers.

These papers I've decided to write… telling about her.

…That which I have loved.

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**A/N: **Prologue complete, chapter 1 will be up soon. Read and review, tell me if this has promise, yeah? Thanks so much for reading :)


	2. Rachel

**A/N:** Next chapter. The MEETING of Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray. The characters are a bit OOC, but then again, this is an entirely different world, no? Enjoy :)

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**Chapter 1:** Rachel

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Before I attended McKinley High School as a Sophomore, I lived on the outskirts of Lima, territory of a much different High School.

Carmel High School of International Studies was a college preparatory school. It served as main rival for McKinley in both Sports and Academics.

The faculty was supposedly dedicated to achieving perfection in every student, no matter how stupid or naturally unruly they were at first. It was naturally assumed that Teachers would break down any opposition to teaching methods and force the knowledge down your throat.

If you flunked out of school at Carmel, there was no future for you. You'd most likely end up a Lima loser, lost and working the local burger stand while your friends ended up in the _real_ world with REAL jobs.

Performing arts were essential to the existence of the school as well. The show choir, Vocal Adrenaline, prided themselves in their extensive list of trophies since the founding of the school.

But the Band Program truly held a dominating presence in school.

Band, especially marching band, was not open to simply anyone in the school. You were only allowed in by audition, and even then, the pickings were thin.

Shelby Corcoran, Band Director, drove her students to perfection. The band camp began the first week of summer.

Band members were driven to physical excellence through a series of strenuous exercise programs. Those who didn't conform to the diet and agenda often ended up sick or thrown from the band.

Kids weren't allowed to participate in any outside programs, and in return, the Carmel High would pay costs in private, professional lessons for the kids.

If grades weren't kept steady, one was thrown from ensemble.

One grade below a B, and termination would start.

With such stringent rules in effect, it assured only the cream of the crop was allowed into the program, a group of about 100 or so kids.

It was from that world that I came.

As a freshman, I joined the program as a flute player.

Needless to say, I was thrown by how difficult it was to maintain your grade point average and remain an upstanding band member.

It was only by sheer determination that I ended up staying in the program a whole year.

Toward the end of the year my parents decided to move to inner Lima for my Father's job. The economic downturn proved too much, the commute between our house and Dad's job was a bit too much to bear.

And so I was set to attend McKinley High.

And it was there…

There that I met Rachel Barbra Berry for the first time.

"Your name?"

I blinked rapidly, breaking my intent study of the map on the wall to look down at the grouchy, glasses wearing fake (it was a bit too vibrant for a woman of her age to be real) red head sitting behind the window.

"Oh… OH! Quinn Fabray, ma'am," I replied hastily, staring about the massive crowds of students moving swiftly back and forth in the gray, dirty hallways of McKinley High school.

"Fabray?" she murmured, typing my name (I think) into the computer, eyes flickering up and down the computer screen before her. " Let's see."

She leaned back in her chair, pulling out a greasy, yellow page from the box of what seemed to be schedules from beside her desk.

She smacked the schedule down on the table, making me jump. Pulling out a fat, red stamp, she proceeded to slam that (I think the woman had anger issues) down upon the paper before handing it to me.

"Your schedule, sweetheart," she said in that nasally, sugar-sweet voice I'd been listening to for the past several minutes in my desperate attempt to retrieve my schedule.

"Thank you, ma'am." Grabbing my schedule, I pivoted on my heel, looking down at my schedule as I began to walk through the crowded halls toward my first class.

_1st:_ _Marching Band_, _Teacher: William Schuester_.

A bright start to my day, I mused silently to myself. At least I could start with something that was at least a bit familiar to me.

Truth be told, McKinley High was nothing like Carmel.

McKinley had no lockers due to the recent drug smugglings that had gone undetected since the previous years. Police officers wandered through the halls, carrying clubs and flashlights. The halls were gray, greasy, and undesirable. The students wore everything from gang-banger clothes, to letterman jackets, to anything else. Cliques were prominent.

At Carmel, each student had a large, beige locker to keep their things. Students were given a strict dress code, which was enforced so stringently, no one dared to break the rules. Our halls were free of graffiti and other markings and it seemed that everyone knew each other.

'_Well,'_ I sighed, looking to the map in my other hand. '_I hope that Band will prove at least **more** familiar to me… I feel out of sync here.'_

As I turned the corner, presumably to the band room, I smacked hard into something.

I yelled as I fell, hitting the ground hard and dropping my books, schedule, pen, and whatever else.

"What the hell are you doing, woman?" A deep voice boomed in my ear, making my already throbbing head ache all the more.

I looked up at my offender, ready to spew out an obscenity (as I would usually do with idiots who cussed at someone that they rarely knew) before my eyes drew wide.

The guy in front of me was muscular… almost like a jockey ape.

He screamed footballer. At least 6 feet in height and broad-shouldered. The red and white letterman jacket was littered with numerous patches, each proclaiming a victory against some school. His hair was cut short (the color brown, I observed) and his face… well, it looked as ape-like as the rest of him.

I got to my feet, hiding my surprise behind a mask of annoyance.

"The question is, what the hell are **_you_** doing, jock?" I muttered, glaring up at him. "You ought to watch yourself in the halls."

He snarled, pushing me slightly. "You're that new kid that they said was coming. Well, you should learn your place, band whore. There's a system here, and fresh meat are at the bottom."

I lifted an eyebrow. "A system of stupidity and self-inflated man ego?"

I knew I shouldn't have said that, but the idiot was pissing me off. Was there really anything else I could've done? I wasn't about to let the moron get away with insulting me.

His face drew into an ugly grin as he flexed his fist, cracking his knuckles and bringing his arm back.

I closed my eyes, ready to take the hit.

…But it never came.

I opened my eyes, seeing that I had a defender.

From where I stood, all I could see was a black polo and fitted dark wash jeans along with a pair of black leather etnies. The person had long, cascading brown hair with bits of red hair showing in the artificial lighting. They stood about a head shorter than me, holding a relaxed palm out, struggling with the huge brute's fist.

"Karofsky, back off," the person (a girl, I could tell, from the musical, smooth lilt) spat, pushing the brute.

Karofsky, said idiot jock, became more irritated. His brow furrowed as he revealed ugly brown teeth. "Mind your own damn business, Berry."

The girl took a step forward, getting right in Karofsky's face. "How about **you** back off? Last time I checked, this girl did nothing except bump into you… But if you have some problems, perhaps you'd like to talk to Coach Sylvester about harming a member of the band? Or maybe Principal Figgins?"

Karofsky shrunk back almost instantly, face losing its hideous smirk. "You wouldn't dare, Man Hands."

"Oh, are you so sure about it?" Berry crossed her arms defiantly. "You want to **test** that theory?"

The footballer snarled once more, backing off with his little posse. "You win this time, RuPaul… but the next time your little friend smacks into me, she's gonna learn her place."

With that, he disappeared down the hall, shoving people out of the way.

The girl 'Berry', turned to me in a perfect about-hace, revealing her face to me for the first time.

Her eyes were a lovely brown, mixed with subtle undertones of red and sparkling with some sort of unknown emotion. Brown, jaggedly cut bangs fell into her eyes. The girl's skin held a natural tan that worked well with the almost delicate workings of her face.

There was a sort of pride, a confidence in her bearing, I noted as she smiled faintly at me with pouty, smooth lips.

"Hey, you okay?" She leaned forward, putting her hands behind her back and looking up to me.

"Yeah," I replied, gathering my books off the floor and putting them into a neat stack. "Thanks for your help…?"

"Rachel," rosy lips parted to reveal sparkling white teeth, "Rachel Berry."

"Well thanks, Rachel," I smiled, unable to do anything but after seeing that brilliant smile.

Rachel straightened. "Anytime."

"So, you're that new girl that Mr. Schue was talking about, huh?" she continued, studying me from head to toe.

I fidgeted. "Yes… I just transferred from Carmel."

"Carmel, huh?" Something inscrutable replaced that twinkle in Rachel's eye before she shook from it, smiling that big smile once more. "But it looks like you have band with me. Wanna walk together…?"

"Quinn," I said, nodding my head, "Quinn Fabray… And yeah, that sounds pretty good."

"Well Quinn, let's go," she said, grabbing my hand and practically dragging me through the halls.

She chattered as we walked, eyes passionate as she explained that their band, 79 people strong, was fortunate to have a distinguished musician such as myself there.

We chatted here and there, talking about my experiences at Carmel. Talking about how things 'ran' here at McKinley. Typical things.

Rachel and I arrived at the band room just as the bell rang.

I took in the many kids that stood idly in every corner of the small, boxlike room. They were average… almost, disappointing a way. They had no special presence as I always felt in my own band room back at Carmel.

Yet there was a hominess here that I never felt with my silent companions.

Rachel took in my expression, reading my mind.

"I know it's not exactly as **fabulous** a room as Carmel's is," she began, "but it's home to us."

"Rachel!" a deep tenor called from the head of the room.

Rachel smiled apologetically before she patted me on the shoulder.

"It was great meeting you, Quinn. Excuse me."

With that, Rachel disappeared from my sight and I was left in a room of strangers.

I looked around, putting my Saxophone and backpack in an orderly pile. It was time to start over again, as much as I loathed to. But I had a friend in Rachel… so maybe, just **_maybe_** leaving my comfort zone would prove to be a good decision.

A shrill whistle filled the area, and at once all students sprung to a stiff attention, facing the podium on which a curly, brown haired man stood, dressed in a gray vest, white dress shirt, and black tie.

He smiled down at us.

"Welcome to the Titans Marching Band," he began, clasping his hands behind his back. "I'm Mr. Schuester, or Schue… and I'm your director. This year is a first for us. We've had the biggest turnout for band so far, and many of you are promising individuals. I'm looking forward to an awesome year with you all."

He grabbed a nearby music stand, awash with papers, and put it down in front of him, sorting through sheets.

"All of you will be grouped into your sections shortly," Schue continued, lifting a list up. "But first let me introduce our student leaders."

"Pit Captain: Brittany Pierce."

A blonde stepped forward, smiling faintly, blue eyes alight.

"Battery captain: Finn Hudson."

Dopey tall guy with faux-hawked brown hair stepped forward (I'll be short and succinct in my descriptions since I don't feel like mincing words).

"Low Brass Captain, Mercedes Jones."

An African American girl stepped forward, smiling kindly at the recruits who looked at her with surprised eyes.

"Flute captain, Kurt Hummel."

A well-dressed young man with slicked brown hair joined the line up front, smiling faintly and waving to those he spotted with small cases.

"Clarinet Captain, Santana Lopez."

A Latina shoved her way through the crowd, dark black hair tied into a high ponytail. She eyed Brittany with a slight grin evident on her lips.

"Trumpet captain: Noah Puckerman."

Mohawked, dark, muscular looking man stepped forward, grinning lecherously (I could tell there would be troubles with this guy) at every girl he could get his eyes set upon.

"Mello Captain: Tina Cohen-Chang."

An Asian girl, timid and smiling, stepped forward dressed in dark, heavily gothic clothing. She nervously waved at several onlookers before looking at the ground.

"And our Drum Major, as I'm sure you are all eager to meet," Will smiled, clapping his hands together before stepping off the podium.

From the crowd, a certain brunette stepped forward, light blue lanyard hanging from her neck with a whistle dangling from it, shining.

'_No friggin' way,'_ I thought, eyes wide with surprise.

The Drum Major was none other than the girl who saved me from trouble with ape-man earlier… The small, dignified, chatty girl with that mysterious glint in those unique brownish eyes.

"Hello," she grinned, looking down welcomingly at all of us, "I'm your Drum Major, Rachel Berry."

And that's the day my life changed forever.

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**A/N: **Well, this is the first chapter. I hope that you guys enjoyed it. This is sort of a test chapter… so if you'd like me to continue, then please review :)


	3. Insurmountable Odds

**A/N: **Thank you to **Blatantly Anonymous**, **V-squared**, **fja, tiggerbounced, charmedlover1114, Lemon Electra, **and** writting is love **for the reviews. I'm glad you are all enjoying my story so far :) Your reviews are keeping me going. I like to hear what you guys like, etc. It really gives me inspiration and motivation. Thank you for the support. So without further ado, please enjoy the next chapter. :)

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**Chapter 2:** Insurmountable Odds

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If someone had told me before I even walked into McKinley High School that _Rachel_ _Berry_ of all the kids in the band program, was the Drum Major of the Marching Band, I would have laughed at them and believed it to be a horrid joke.

But Rachel Berry; smiling, friendly, and full of endless conversation, was the Drum Major.

I remember the shock that I felt radiating through my being when I took in the news that the girl I had befriended so easily, addressed so casually, was in fact my Drum Major.

Had I known that, I would've addressed her with more respect.

The Drum Major of Carmel High, Jesse St. James, commanded and DEMANDED respect from every band member or section leader.

He had been a prodigy, conducting his first field show when he was merely 16, a freshman in High School, when he became the Head Drum Major of our Band. He lived, breathed, and slept music and demanded the same amount of passion from everyone (even the volunteers).

Jesse usually conducted himself in a strict, quiet manner. If anyone disrespected him or addressed him familiarly (Which included _Jesse_ instead of _Mr. St. James_ or _Yessir!)_ then they would be wet toweled during practice or made to run laps or do suicides.

I never made the unfortunate mistake to fall under Jesse's hate list, those who did usually ended up losing their lunch and getting kicked out of the marching band.

Rachel, however, was Jesse's polar opposite.

That day she smiled there, face red with excitement and eyes aglow with enthusiasm. There was excitement in her every movement and adoration for the art in her every step.

"So," she began, lifting up a thick stack of music, "everyone, welcome to the Marching Titans. I'm happy that you all decided to join in on the fun. I recognize a few faces from our Band Camp, but the rest of you, as I see, are new."

"There are several simple rules that you must understand to be a Titan," she continued, nodding to the tall, gangly boy named Finn, who gave an almost adorable puppy face to the Drum Major before taking a stack of thick books from Mr. Schue. "Let's get these handbooks out to everyone."

Everyone in the room stood still as every section leader brought out the books to the confused kids in the room, patting them reassuringly and smiling in an attempt to alleviate their concerns.

Kurt, dressed in a handsome button down blue shirt and matching bowtie and slacks, handed a red paperbound book to me. He studied me curiously, greenish blue boring into my own plain hazels. He pressed a hand to my arm comfortingly, almost as though he understood how utterly lost I felt, before turning back to stand with the other Captains.

'_How to Show Titan Spirit,'_ I mused, flipping through the cheaply printed pages with an amused eyebrow quirked. Well, this was certainly new. I'd never had a handbook passed out to me before. At Carmel, all we had were the rules written in large, blazing blue letters in every room of the Band Territory.

"Rule number 1," Rachel stated, holding up her finger, "you will always show respect to your fellow band members. We are family, and fights ruin the quality and unity of our group."

"Rule number 2." Mercedes stepped forward. "'Early is on time, on time is late, and late is unforgivable.' Band members will always be early to every practice and every event. Members who fail will be disciplined with push ups, sit ups, or running."

"4." Noah Puckerwhateverthepervert'sname grinned. "When in uniform, students are not allowed to act like idiots or flirt with hot chicks (Rachel smacked the back of his head at this point in his speech). You will REMAIN respectful."

"5." Tina timidly grinned. "Students will always wear white shirts and shorts to rehearsal and never forget their dot books or lose their drill. Water MUST be brought to practice, nothing else."

"6," Kurt chirruped. "No bad behavior or else you get the boot. And students must be able to play off the show at any given time when we are ready to access.

"7," Finn muttered, "No eating in the band room. No food kept in lockers, just instruments, no bags on the floor, but up in the racks in the sides of the room, got it?"

"8," Rachel finished, "Respect Drum Major and Section Leaders as well as the Director. Everything else will be fine."

"Follow these rules, guys," Mr. Schue smiled broadly, "and everything will be perfectly at ease here."

Rachel stepped down from the podium, walking over to the dry-erase board and picking up a blue marker. "This year's show will be…" She paused, dropping the cap of the marker onto the little metal ledge and writing '_The Incredibles'_ on the board. "The Incredibles."

A large muttering overcame the room over the show as soon as the short little brunette wrote it on the board in her neat handwriting.

'_The Incredibles,'_ I thought to myself, quirking a brow. '_I level 4 Jazz show for a band that's got so many newbies…?'_

Let me explain to you all the basic, rough outline of a field show, just in case any of you are scratching your heads in… well, confusion.

Marching Bands are rated 1A 2A 3A 4A, etc. The rank of the band depends on both the overall quality of the band (and show) as well as the size of the band.

Bands such as Carmel usually ranked HIGH up in 6A, simply because the students are professionally trained, well-oiled machines (it also doesn't hurt that Carmel has over 100 people in it) that can crank out music and drill in a short summer and get ready to clean up over the school year.

Band **music** is also rated by difficulty and drill design. Grade (or level) 1, 2, 3, 4, etc.

_The Incredibles_ was a HUGE undertaking for a band that I would probably rate as a 2A (but that's being generous). 72 or so kids is not enough to give a huge, swingish Jazz sound. Especially music from a **well-known film…** And the music from the show wasn't exactly easy either.

My eyes flickered around the room, looking at the cases and accessing the amount of Brass/woodwind power.

Overwhelming Sax power (good in a Jazz show, essential) about 10 or 15 maybe… 5 Trumpets (that's not good, Trumpets are ESSENTIAL, without them, it would be bust), 4 Contra (good, nice solid lower basis), 6 Baritone and Trombone (…hmmm, I think it should be better established), some Clarinet, Drum, etc…

So far, it looked as though there was a modest number…

But the Trumpets could prove to be a _**huge**_ setback in a huge Jazz number such as _The Incredibles_.

I'd done my fair share of listening to shows over the summer; transcribing and working as much as I could to prepare me for any sort of curveball that McKinley High School might throw at me. Saxophone skills had come after only a year, so maybe I should have been on Flute… But Saxophone would prove more essential in a piece such as _The Incredibles_.

But who knew what Mr. Schue and Drum Major (I couldn't believe at the time, I was still in shock) Rachel Berry had up their sleeves.

And who knew what the **Colorguard** **Instructor** had up THEIR sleeves.

All I could do was cooperate with what they had in mind for the show and carry out orders to the best of my ability. That was the ONLY thing I could do.

I wasn't a Drum Major or section leader…

"This show will be difficult for us all," Rachel tapped the board twice with the back of her marker. "But I have no doubt if we pool our efforts together, we will be able to conquer anything. Even a Grade 4 show."

A Chinese boy with spiky black hair raised his hand, gulping before he spoke.

"Well… Ms. Drum Major… Ma'am," he began, looking to the floor, "Well… can I ask you what Class we'll be showcasing in?"

Rachel smiled faintly. "I believe that Mr. Schue can better that question…?"

"Mike Chang."

At this point Schue stepped forward, picking up the slack.

"Well, Mike, I'd like to start us at an easy 3A… And if things improve, which they no doubt will-."

'_Don't be so optimistic with all these numbers, Schue… Carmel has much more manpower AND much more balance than you could ever imagine.'_

"I'd like to move us up to 5 or 6A."

At this my eyes widened considerably.

5A or 6A? With a NEWBIE band on a song that they were barely well-equipped for?

Where was the sense of sanity in this school?

It was at that time that I knew something with great certainty.

That McKinley High was full of nut jobs that didn't seem to know the limitations of performance…

And I was now apart of that huge, seemingly proud score.

And it was almost an embarrassment.

XX

Marching Band let out shortly after Rachel delegated parts this way and that; splitting us into sections and handing out music.

I ended up in the un-captained Saxophone section with 10 or 15 other kids. We wandered blankly around for several minutes, looking for our Captain, only to find out that Matt (the previous leader) had transferred to some school named Dalton's over the summer.

Which left the decision of captain up to Schue, who primly said that Captain would be decided at the first practice after he 'evaluated the effectiveness of each individual.'

I was in great hurry to get out of the damn classroom after dismissal, grabbing up my Saxophone and other things in such great haste that I almost fell stumbling over the Trumpet cases that were sat cleanly on the floor (lockers were to be assigned after school).

I was halfway down the hall when a loud shout sent me freezing.

"Quinn! Wait up!"

'_Good God,'_ I thought to myself, turning around and finding none other than Rachel Berry pushing through the crowd after me. '_Which classes does she __**not**__ have with me?'_

She stopped next to me, leaning down and panting.

"Good Jeezus, Quinn," she looked up at me, "you ran away like the world was on fire."

'_Well… the world __**is**__ on fire when you're in a band that doesn't understand its limitations.'_

"Sorry, I was… in a hurry to find my next class." Good save, Fabray. Sneaky way to state the hidden message of 'I want to get away from **YOU.'**

"Well," she straightened, "what's your next class?"

"Spanish… with… Wait, Mr. Schue?" Good Lord, was this school that **dreadfully **understaffed?

"Great!" she bounced up on the balls of her feet, grabbing my arm and grinning that silly grin of hers. "I have that too. Come on, we can walk together again!"

With that, she lugged me through the sea of kids, pulling me next to her.

"So Quinn, you're from Carmel," she kept her eyes focused on the crowd before her. "What gives?"

"What gives?" I echoed, cocking in eyebrow in question.

"Well… it's a good school," dodge elbow, "I don't see why anyone would want to leave it… Especially with the **infamous** Band program."

"Well… my Dad got a better job offer," pivot, "the commute to get to Carmel from where we live is unreasonable. McKinley was a better decision. Easier on the pocketbook."

"Ah," Rachel nodded, "makes sense."

"Mmmhmm-whoa!"

Some jock made an attempt to pour crap on my head when Berry grabbed me out of the way, tanned, slightly muscular arm slung across my abdomen in a protective embrace.

'_For some girl I just met,'_ I thought to myself, '_she's been doing an awful lot of saving…'_

The two of us stayed like that for a few seconds, Rachel holding me to her as though she were scared that something else was going to fall from Jock Heaven (or Hell, or wherever they come from). The smell of sandalwood invaded my senses, spicy against my nose and drowning out the stale smell of McKinley High's hallways.

She pulled away, looking down at whatever the Jerk was going to throw at me-…

Pardon me, is that… **slushy **that some bastard almost dropped on my damn head?

I felt my face redden in anger, arms shaking as I felt the urge to stomp over to the goddamn meat head who was going to slop me in grape surprise and give him a taste of his own medicine.

"You should watch out."

Rachel's melodic voice broke through my violent thoughts of pile-driving the idiot to the next century.

She was straightening the color of her polo and straightening the black, thick leather wrist bands on her arms.

"Band may be King at Carmel, Quinn," she said, looking at me quite seriously, "but here at McKinley, we're bottom of the barrel."

"So this… crap on your head is a common thing?" I asked, pointing to the grape crud that was steadily dripping its way onto my black converse.

"For some of us," Rachel frowned, "and we call it slushy facials, if you were wondering."

The small girl pulled a pocket watch out of jeans, flipping it open and frowning. "Come on, let's keep walking, class is almost about to start."

"They don't seem to like to mess with you much," I continued, looking down at the little girl as we walked down the hallway.

"That's because I don't tolerate their bullshit," we turned the corner, "and it certainly may help that my Dads made me well-versed in several types of martial arts."

"Well that's-," I paused for a moment, thinking back on the conversation to make sure I'd heard right.

…_Dads?_

It wasn't that I was **against** homosexuality. It was just… well, my parents were hardcore Catholics. The bible-thumping and homophobic type.

Especially my Father.

"I know it's not normal by any standards…"

Oh my, was I **that **obvious.

"But they love me," Rachel stopped just outside our classroom, eyes hidden behind jagged brown bangs. "…And that's all I could ever ask for."

"I'm sorry," I whispered, "it's just… I'm not against your Fathers being together, Rachel. I'm just not used to it."

Rachel smiled slightly, chuckling a bit.

"It's okay, Quinn… I understand," her eyes drifted down to the silver-spun crucifix hanging 'round my neck with a sorrowful look replacing that unusual sparkle in her eyes. "I just hope that your religion won't get in the way of us being good friends."

"Never," I bumped her shoulder, attempting to lighten the mood. "After all, what would I do without my buddy with crazy karate skills to save me from random slushy facials?"

She smiled, that mysteriously twinkle in her eye once again.

"No, I don't suppose you would survive the day without corn syrup in your eyes."

And for a moment the two of us just stood there, eyes and studying... conversing.

The bell rang, jarring us both from our reverie.

Rachel turned those bright, liquid brown eyes from mine, severing our connection before turning and hurrying into the classroom. Obviously as embarrassed as I was for staring after me for so long.

'_Rachel Berry,_' I turned the name over in my several times. '_Rachel Berry… What an interesting character you are…'_

Indeed, I had no idea just **how** truly interesting Rachel Berry was.

Nor did I have any idea that the unusual magnetism that I'd felt within the pit of my stomach. That strange emotion…

Would someday turn into that deep, yearning love that to this day plagues and haunts me.

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**A/N:** I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please review, etc. Thank you.


	4. The Singer

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Glee or any of its characterz, all that junk. This pertains to all of the chapters in the past and all future chapters... Plus, if Glee were under my control, the band kids would be more vocal **:)**

**A/N:** Hello everyone, Chapter 3 here. Few weeks have passed in Quinn's life, and she and Rachel have gotten quite close... soo here comes the REALIZATION... and the denial... Anyway, thank yous to **Blatantly Anonymous:** _Thank you SO much for your review, I really appreciate the praise, a great thank you. Your reviews make the writing worth it :) _**Kikky:** _Well, I'm a big bandie, and so you'll learn through the story, don't worry. Thanks for your review, I'm so happy you like the story! _and **writtting is love:** _I have a thing for thanking my readers because I am very appreciative of the support. Thank you SO much for YOUR support, by the way :)_ for your incredible support and reviews! Everyone else, don't be shy, I'd love to hear what you think.

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**Chapter 3:** The Singer

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Time passed quickly that first day of school.

It was easy to slough things off when you don't have any homework.

After all, I think it's a common consensus in every damn school everywhere that the first few days are the simple 'getting to know you' days. The time in which the teacher attempts to 'scare' you out of the course and give you time to sign away your life in the almost **never** fully read (and rarely understood) syllabi.

By the time lunch rolled around, I obtained a large plethora of paper that could really rival any sort of college paper. You could probably rebuild a tree with the amount of it all…

Well, that was probably an exaggeration, but still, you get the point.

It was easy to see that Rachel Berry would become part of my life for an indefinite amount of time.

While Rachel didn't actively seek me out after every class, her classroom was usually next door to mine. In fact, all the band kids usually found themselves near or in the same classes.

So when I saw her walking briskly down the hallway to her classes, I usually found myself running to catch up and pulling her by the shoulder with a faint smile on my face.

She quickly became my greatest friend and confidant.

Rachel was stern and attentive when in the position of Drum Major. She was never the stringent leader that Jesse was, however. She would gently reprimand those who would not follow directions, and occasionally assign pushups, but never push anyone to their breaking point.

Outside of her role, she was smiling and cheerful. She wasn't afraid to speak her mind, no matter how terrible or harsh the situation (though her 'get over your moron ex' speech that she gave to a grieving teenager was a little more than she could handle). And though quite talkative, Rachel was generally a good listener, only inserting side comments where needed.

Her musical skills were unparalleled.

Once or twice I'd heard her prattling off directions for the Flutes in Marching band, bringing out her silver plated instrument and playing the parts perfectly, despite the fact that she was merely sight reading.

In Jazz Ensemble she was first chair Saxophone and often overpowered the rest of the section since she was so effective in her articulations and dynamics (with the exception of me… since I'd been actively trained by Ms. Corcoran). She held the title of 'Jazz Singer' although I'd never actually heard her sing the first few weeks of school.

Jazz Ensemble… well, it was… interesting.

When I signed up, I thought it'd be a great opportunity. Carmel never had a Jazz Band. Perhaps because we were so busy dominating in the Wind Ensemble.

But well… I wished I'd signed up for the Wind Ensemble at McKinley the second we started playing that first day.

We played a basic swing for seat placement… Rachel first, me as second, and several others beneath us.

Well, I wasn't really aware of how exactly **terrible** we were until we started playing the basic Basie song '_Jumpin' at the Woodside.'_

And well…

It wasn't exactly _Jumpin'_.

The Tenor player failed at the solo (which was saved at once by Rachel, who broke in mid-dying squeak) and the Trumpet player couldn't seem to keep proper tempo or reach the proper key (which was quite sad because the Trumpet solo was quite easy).

And while the rest of the band could 'play' the music, it had no heart. No soul.

No Jazz spirit.

Schue merely gave that stupid grin that day, stating that:

"Well… we'll get better, don't worry."

That stupid statement that gave the kids hope… that made them think they weren't THAT bad.

Well Hell, it's terrible to give them no hope, I know, but a dose of reality is what a person needs when in a bind, at times. Because if you don't give them REALITY then no one will ever be motivated to improve.

It was after several weeks of lackluster performance that Schue finally threw his baton down, glaring at us heavily in a way that was extremely uncharacteristic of his normal goody-two shoes self.

"I don't think you guys realize how **serious** this is!" his voice was two octaves lower its usual light tenor. His brown eyes darkened, connecting with every person who, up till that moment, had been sitting with a silly grin at him.

"Jazz is about passion… about putting living experience into the music," Schue picked the score up in his hands, waving it above his head. "THIS is music you **must** live and **feel**… and listen to it!"

His eyes thundered about the room. "How many of you listen to Jazz… and DON'T lie to me."

The room was silent… I raised my hand slowly, watching as Rachel, Artie (our bass player) and Finn (drum set) were the only ones who raised their hands.

Schue's face grew contorted at that point. He slammed the score down.

"How do you expect to PLAY Jazz if you never listen to it?"

Almost everyone looked down… ashamed of our actions.

Our performance, in here AND in the field show had certainly suffered because of the lack of initiative.

Schue sighed, shoulders drooping as he breathed in and out, putting a hand to his brow and thinking for a moment.

"Well then, I think it's best we get a taste of how Jazz **should** be done… Rachel?"

Rachel, at this point, jumped, eyes wide. Schue turned his gaze upon her, desperation etched into every crease of his normally ecstatic visage.

"We'll need your vocals now."

Rachel stiffened, looking down at her Saxophone, appearing hesitant at the opportunity to play out her other role. She clenched the alto close to her, obviously desiring to stay in her seat and play than open her mouth.

"Please, Rachel?"

With that, Rachel sighed, closing tanned lids over liquid browns before unhooking her Sax from her neck strap and standing, placing it on her chair and coming out from behind her stand.

Tiny little Rachel Berry, dressed today in a tight plaid blouse and leather wristbands, was supposed to show us how to sing? I scoffed, a bit skeptic.

If Rachel was such a good singer, then I would have expected her to be used a **bit** more the past few weeks.

She nodded toward Finn and Artie.

"_Fever_, please, boys," she shuffled in her converse, closing her eyes once more.

The familiar bass line echoed through the room, soft drum brushing sending a thrum through the room as everyone stared wide-eyed at the silent figure of their normally conservative Drum Major.

Rachel's eyes snapped open, suddenly transfigured within the last few moments. They were intense almost, dare I say…

_Sultry._

Plump, red lips parted as I stared wide-eyed at the little musician that I thought I'd come to see as a great friend…

Change.

"_Never know how much I love you… never know how much I care…"_

The normally melodic, brightening voice that I had grown so used to had deepened several pitches, becoming raspy and smoky…

Ohmigod…

Rachel strutted, literally _**strutted **_to the handy-capable Artie, sliding slim, porcelain fingers down his shoulders. "_But when you put your arms around me… I get a fever that's so hard to bear… you give me fever_."

At this point she was sliding down, lowering her face before Artie's, heavy-lidded and lips parted.

"_When you kiss me…"_ her lips ghosted a faint kiss on Artie's cheek, before she pulled back slightly, brown hair cascading around Artie's face.

"_Fever when you hold me tight…"_

Hell, was that actually **Rachel Berry**, the girl who snapped at couples for making out in the halls? The girl who wore such form fitting, yet modest clothing that she could be the poster-child for proper dress?

This **girl** that was practically having **sex** with a goddamn song was my best friend and our Drum Major?

At this time I'd noticed that I was shaking, yes _**shaking**_ for some strange reason…

And that somewhere, in the corner of my mind, my head was screaming in protest at the fact that Rachel Berry was seducing Artie Abrams and calling for a much more **happy **alternative.

I tried to shake my head, clenching my hand and trying to remain unmoved by the sultry display before my eyes.

'_It must've been the meat surprise at lunch_,' I thought to myself, clenching violently at the fragile keys on my Saxophone. _'I-It's… making me shaky_.'

Beside me, Santana Lopez smirked. "Pretty hot, ain't she, Fabray?"

I turned my head, glaring. "What the hell are you talking about, Lopez?"

"You're having eye-sex with Berry's body, Fabray."

I nearly choked before I turned, smacking the girl and hissing. "I'm totally straight, Lopez… and I'm not sure whether or not you've noticed the symbol hanging around my goddamn neck."

Lopez merely smiled that Cheshire-cat grin of hers. "Oooo, a gay Catholic in denial… wouldn't be the first I'd seen."

"You'd better take that back Lope-."

"It ain't happenin', Fabray. But take a good look at the eye-candy on display and I'm sure you won't disagree with me."

She pushed my chin back toward Rachel, who was, at this time, practically sauntering over to the concentrated Finn, running a finger down his broad-chest and pressing herself lightly against him.

A terrible tendril of **want** curled low in my stomach and a whine nearly left my throat until I realized the **setting**.

Santana was leaning over, lips against my ear…

"_It's okay to be __**gay**__, Fabray."_

And it was only after Rachel was bowing before the class, panting and smiling sexily that dread settled low in my belly…

'_I might be __**gay…'**_

A twinge of want again trumpeted against my fingers, sending them wanting as Rachel sat next to me, bending over to reach for a fresh reed and exposing a slight silver of cleavage. I nearly squeaked at the intensity of the feelings.

'_For __**Rachel Berry.**_'

And as Rachel sat back, panting and **so** close… I felt my self-denial and prayers begin playing over and over in my head.

It'd only been three weeks away from my old, domineering life and I was sooo… incredibly…

'_Screwed,'_ I thought numbly to myself, eyes still very much attached to one Rachel Berry.

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**A/N:** Thanks for reading, PLEASE review!


	5. Sneak Peak

**A/N: **This chapter marks the crucial unveiling of Carmel's Show (by the way, I don't own Glee or any of its characters). In fact, I'd like you guys to get a taste of the shows! Go to **MSC (Marching band Show Concepts) Website **and look up for **Carmel High: RENT **for **CARMEL QUINN'S YEAR: 'Piano Man: The Music of Billy Joel.' **And for **McKinley Marching Titans: 'The Incredibles." **You should enjoy the pieces, even if you aren't a marching band afficionado. Great thanks to **heyalove:** _Thanks for the support :) _**onesmartmess: **_Oh my gosh! A fellow bandie. Greetings, I'm glad I could help you relive the old times! :) _**normalab:** _Perhaps, perhaps she will :) _**kikky:** _Band is classified by the music we play Jazz Ensemble=Jazz, Concert Band=Easy classical, Wind Ensemble=Advanced Classical, Symphonic=Culmination of ALL band members playing classical, done once a year, and Marching band=Marching music._ **blatantly anonymous**: _Thank you so much :) _and **writtting is love: **_again, thanks :) _

Your support for this story is AMAZING, it really inspires me to keep writing :) So on that note, keep leaving me your thoughts! I appreciate it!

**Did you listen to the shows? Tell me in your review, which show is YOUR favorite?**

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**Chapter 4:** Sneak Peak

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It wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair that God had made me attracted to the one person that I found most valuable in my life… the one person who could crush me in mere seconds if she didn't wish to be part of my life.

It wasn't fair that God made me attracted to Rachel Berry.

Rachel Berry with her annoying argyle hoodies and stupid baggy polos.

Rachel Berry, the girl who could send anyone grinning in mere seconds of flashing that amazing smile of hers.

Rachel Berry, the amazing Drum Major who seemed to be brother, mother, sister, and father to every band member. The one who always made sure to acknowledge the existence of **every** person in the band, no matter _**how**_ minor their role was. The girl who made you feel special even though you knew that you were small and insignificant compared to her brilliant person.

Rachel Berry, the girl with those mysterious reddish brown eyes that housed that strange, special glint I was determined to identify. Rachel Berry, who was so small yet held in her position a character and a voice so strong, no one could overcome it.

That day in Jazz Ensemble was like a splash of icy water. It made reality come crashing down and put a cruel truth in front of my eyes.

I wasn't a **bad** Catholic. I prayed before every meal… I gave thanks to God, tried my best to follow the Ten Commandments, worked as an alter server, and attended church regularly.

I had two God-fearing parents who loved me more than anything. Together we held together as a small band of Christ lovers… together we were a Holy force.

Yet it seems God punishes those who love Him with the worst possible afflictions.

…It wasn't that I hated gays. I was by no means homophobic…

But my parents would crucify me if they knew.

I tried to ignore my feelings telling myself '_oh, it's just bad food…'_ or '_…it's chilly out, and my dinner before practice wasn't exactly great…'_

Or I just played off my observations and admiration of Rachel's now 'sultry' figure as a trick of the light or the coloring of her blouse.

And everyday it echoed in my mind…

'_I can't be __**gay**__…'_

_'I __**can't**__ be gay.'_

It served to sink my confidence… and send me into desperation.

The sermons, the years of religious conditioning, told me that I was an **abomination**.

No one wanted me, no one loved me except those that were damned to the fire and brimstone of Hell.

God had given me a trial, and I was supposed to deal with it by turning to the Love of God.

Yet I prayed and prayed those nights…

And no deliverance came.

So I turned to the only means of relief I could.

Cutting.

At first it was a mere accident…

I had thrown a mirror against the wall, disgusted with the image of my sinful face. Disgusted with the fact that God was speaking to cure the disease within my soul, yet I could not hear because I was too **human** to know Him.

The shards flew out as the glass impacted the plaster, several coming out to snag my wrist and send blood oozing onto my carpet.

And then I felt it…

That pain… it was a distraction.

A distraction from the fact that I was sinning against my Heavenly Father.

And so I took it as a form of repentance.

Though when I cut, it wasn't deep, just enough to send a sting. It was farther up near my shoulder where no person would DARE look.

My coping, I'll admit, didn't help one bit with the simple fact that I was attracted to Rachel.

In fact, in days when my pain was at its peak, the cuts throbbing and sending silent tears down my cheeks, thinking of those glorious eyes of hers… those deep, understanding orbs would give me some relief.

And send me into another spiral of self-imposed denial.

Rachel herself proved an enigma.

After the performance, she was unnoticeably silent. Almost as though her stunning performance had sent some degree of shame coursing through her veins.

It was only when Santana saw me eyeing her worriedly, that the Latina pulled me aside after class, hand on her hip.

"Berry," Santana began, "has been in quite a quandary with Schue lately because of her little singing skills."

"I don't understand why there would be a problem, she's great," I said, looking after the little brunette, who had gone storming down the hallway, eyes hidden below the jagged fringe of her bangs.

"That's the problem."

"…What?"

Santana shuffled, sighing. "Berry's a **modest** person, Fabray. She's already the Drum Major, and whenever _she_ gets credit for the ENTIRE show, she feels awful. Schue would use her more, if Berry would allow it."

The pieces suddenly clicked together at that. "She wants the **band** to have the credit, not her."

"Exactly," Santana interjected. "Berry has Schue on a limit of only several vocal songs. If he oversteps or forces her to perform, Berry said she'd drop Jazz."

And it struck me in awe that little Rachel Berry who usually seemed eager for attention (at least in Marching band… but I suppose that was only because she wished to give direction to the group) was actually quite the opposite.

She was _**selfless**_.

That added another dollop of admiration and a considerable strengthening in emotion.

And so weeks passed at McKinley High, and more and more I was beginning to fit in as part of the group.

The first movement of the show had been completed, drill and music. Drill was scattered all over the band room floor and kids were rushing to finish homework.

I found friendship within the ranks.

Mercedes Jones was the first to step forward (after Rachel, of course). She was fun, loveable, and was an amazing captain. Her charisma often transferred over into her work. Her kids adored her in every single way.

Soon after Mercedes came Kurt Hummel. Kurt was open about the fact that he was indeed gay and proud. He took much emotional abuse when he first arrived at the school, he explained to me, but Rachel had set the record straight by securing revenge in slushies (apparently she'd had the entire football team slushied with the help of the band kids). He was sweet, though at times a little tactless with his comments.

Noah Puckerman was an animal, that much was to be sure. He'd wasted no time in hitting on me shamelessly in practice, only to be rewarded by a stern lecture from Rachel about breaking the band rules and being rewarded several laps. Though he seemed very rough and brutish, Puck was actually quite the gentleman underneath it all. He was especially protective of Rachel, who he claimed was his 'Hot Jew sister by another motha."

Tina… well, Tina was very quiet. She hardly spoke a word, but she was eager to smile at me whenever I seemed to say something that greatly amused her.

And Finn Hudson…

Finn was a big, dopey mess of a guy. He had a sweet smile and an even kinder disposition… though at times he was as dead as a doornail.

He was also Rachel's ex-boyfriend.

In a way, I resented Finn for the simple fact that he was undeniable proof of one singular fact:

Rachel liked **men**.

From what I'd heard, the only relationships Rachel had had were with a couple (two) boys around the school. And **Finn** was the more successful, one year ex that still pined away after his lost love.

Even my self-imposed denial, there was some hope that somehow my sins would someday be considered alright. That there would be hope for a future in which Rachel and I could be together.

Still, with everything on my plate: denial first and foremost, there was still the oncoming threat of the competition to worry about.

Wednesdays were low key for us. Classes started a whole hour later than usual and the class periods, of course, were shorter as well. Everyone was very restless.

Schue and the scary Colorguard instructor Sue had fallen ill with a strain of flu that was currently circulating throughout the school (rumors concluded that it was brought to the school from the grease monkey Jacob Ben Israel). Which meant we had an afternoon free of practice.

That day we were feeling pretty secure in ourselves over the issue of the field show. It sounded great so far, even for a band of our size. Everyone woke up and started listening, especially after Rachel's hot little display (my God, did I actually write that) in Jazz rehearsal.

"We're right on schedule for a band of our size."

Lunchtime discussions… well, were usually focused on memorizing drill just in case tests were decided. Today, we were a little bit more liberal…

"I don't know about that," I replied uncertainly, biting my lip. Though I was very secure in our position in 3A… if we were aiming to beat Carmel eventually, then…

"I don't like the uncertainty in your statement, Quinn," Mercedes paused, mid-chew of her roast beef and tater-tot (…I don't think I'd ever seen such a strange combination). "Don't you have any faith in us?"

"We're badass on the first movement!" Puck smacked his fist down on the table, eyes blazing. "We're ready for a band smackdown!"

"It's the most prepared any Marching Band has been in years," Kurt continued, laying a well-manicured hand down on the table. "Well… in the history of McKinley High, anyway."

Could they really be this naïve? What were they aiming for? Failure?

I opened my mouth to speak, ready to set them straight.

"We're ready for 3A, not for 6A, though."

My mouth closed noiselessly as my eyes caught contact with both my worst nightmare and greatest dream.

Rachel, dressed today in a black tanktop with a terrible argyle hoodie, sat beside me.

I fought my hardest not to reach out and brush the curl of her silky brown hair out of her eyes. Tried not to move closer as my eyes darkened and fell onto plump, rosy red lips.

Finn turned his puppy dog gaze upon Rachel. "…What?"

"Jeez, Berry," Kurt muttered, eyeing the girl's ensemble with disgust. "Your sweater makes it look like there was a malfunction at the factory…"

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Quips at my clothes aside, let's get down to business and get our heads down to reality… Our goal isn't to be ready for 3A, people… 6A and 5A are our goal."

"Well how do we know we're not already at that level?" Santana interjected, glaring at the little Drum Major. "How do **we** know that **we** are READY?"

Well, gee, I wonder… maybe it would have something to do with the fact that we only have the first movement down and Carmel already has the whole show down?

And suddenly, a bright idea came to mind. An idea that WOULD motivate…

And it'd give me a fair assessment of what I'd left behind.

"There is a way." At this, all wide-eyed gazes at the table were aimed at me. Bingo, I'd got their attention.

"And how would that be, Fabray?" Santana spat, narrowing her eyes.

"We go after school," I took a bite of my sandwich, pausing before looking up once more, smirking as I saw them hanging off the edges of their seats, "and we take a look at a 6A band… Say… Carmel?"

There was a mutual gasp throughout the table. They all looked at me as though I was insane. As though I'd just said that Santa was real and not a conspiracy by parents to scam their children for the first five or so years of their lives.

Puck, of course (ever the gentleman), was the first to respond. "Whoa… Blondey, you can do that?"

I lifted an eyebrow. "Well, Man Whore, I'm pretty sure I can, since all of Carmel's practices are open to the public. And since we don't have any practice today…"

"We're free to go," Brittany, the ever blonde, not at all bright Captain finished.

"So," I bridged my fingers, looking about the table, "are we in?"

For a few moments, there was nothing but silence throughout the room. Nothing but the sound of kids laughing at other tables about stupid (probably perverted) jokes. And for a second, I thought I was the only one who was even REMOTELY curious.

That was, until that bright, amazing voice piped up next to me.

"I think it's agreed." Rachel's eyes shone bright, grinning from person to person.

And so we went.

XX

We were at Carmel's grounds a mere thirty minute drive. Everyone hitched a ride in Kurt's Hummer (we figured it'd be a dead giveaway to form a looong car caravan) and within moments we were at those familiar beige gates that I walked through every day for a year of my life.

At once all eyes were on me. No one knew how to navigate the campus other than me. And trust it to a band member, the grounds were practically a maze if you didn't know where to go.

I nodded to them, waving toward the back of the school and starting the long trek to the other side of campus. The football stadium was always concealed… My friends and I made the joke, at one time, that it was to ensure that Carmel's 'secrets' would not be available to the general public.

And now that I was actually part of a rival band, I could see that perhaps that conjecture was quite true.

We crept across campus, almost as though attempting not to be caught, even though we were all quite conscious of the fact that these practices were QUITE open to everyone. Perhaps it was just the pure anxiety coursing through our veins at the time as we waited to see, for the first time, our competition.

And it truly… didn't take long.

We **heard** them before we saw them.

We barely walked two steps before the blare of heavy brass could be heard echoing throughout the campus. It was a familiar tune… a tune that sounded like…

"_Rent,"_ Rachel gasped, eyes wide in surprise.

A Broadway field show. I should've seen it coming after _Piano Man: The Music of Billy Joel_.

Carmel High was all about showmanship and giving the customer, aka the Football spectators, the best bang for their buck. They struck terror by intimidation and instilled awe by their sheer numbers and frightening precision.

And if the masterful articulations and steady dynamics that were sending chills down my back were any indication, this year would truly be no exception.

"_We're not gonna pay… we're not gonna pay… last year's rent…"_ Rachel sung to the band's explosive energy, delicate voice rising above the harsh, blaring wall of sound that grew with every step we took toward the football field.

"Holy Shit!"

There stood Carmel, in their black and royal blue uniforms, Shakos set atop their heads, plumes stirring in the slight wind. They snapped their instruments down in unison as the movement ended, bowing with the same precision in the spiral-like pattern they had formed.

Their eyes were hidden by the brim of their Shakos as they formed a wall, ready for the next given direction.

And during all this, there, standing tall and proud upon the podium, clad in pure black with sparkling sequins, was Jesse St. James.

Jesse St. James was tall, probably about 6 feet tall, at any rate. His face was heavily chiseled, with dark, thunderous brown eyes and equally chocolate curly locks falling across his tanned forehead. He was broad shouldered, the uniform making him appear more regal in appearance.

White gauntlets garbed his hands, currently at his side, long pure white baton down at his side.

Down by the foot of the podium, a dark-haired woman clad in black spoke sternly to the Drum Major.

Ms. Corcoran.

I looked back at my companions, not surprised at what I saw.

Fear.

The normally boisterous bunch was struck dumb at the display before them. They hadn't even seen the group march yet, and yet the sheer power of the music they had heard upon entering hadn't even registered as possible in their brains.

Yet there remained one unfazed.

Rachel was right next to me, staring daggers into Jesse's stern face. Her fists were clenched and that cloak, that confidence that was only present when she served as Drum Major, was about her in thick waves.

I turned my gaze back upon my once-comrades, watching Jesse call them back to their first setting, yelling in his commanding tenor to hurry into place.

Within moments, the band was set again. The Drum Major nodded down to the pit, leaning down and clicking the annoying hammering of Dr. Beat (metronome) to life.

"BAND TEN HUT!"

The members came to life at that point, instruments set to their lips and watching as Jesse lifted his hands, baton poised at the ready.

And with several swift, aggressive strokes of his hands, the show began.

The brass and drums broke out through the silence, pulling forth a driving melody as the woodwinds settled comfortably underneath. The band members parted from their starting positions, moving to spiral uncontrollably.

With each dynamic… with each swell and fall and sharp staccato they changed and formed different shapes and sizes. Never once did anyone, not even in the Colorguard, stumble or fall in the complicated patterns that formed across the field.

And as soon it began, it ended as we found it… shocking us to our very cores. The music… the visuals sent us into a hard frenzy.

And I now knew the true fear I had instilled into so many people. I had once been part of a machine. A machine that flowed and bended and appeared to be complicated… Far beyond my years.

Everyone behind me was equally speechless, even more so than before.

Still, though, one person remained unmoved… determined.

Our Drum Major, Rachel, remained in that same stern, burning stare locked upon Jesse. Her chin had drawn up and her eyes had grown hard and intense.

There was something in her bearing that scared me. Something that made me fear her more than Jesse St. James on his worst days.

And that made me hopeful.

Hopeful that everything would turn out alright.

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**A/N: **So what will happen? ...Reviews motivate me to update :) Thanks for all the support and your time!

**Did you listen to the shows? Tell me in your review, which show is YOUR favorite?**


	6. Understanding

**Disclaimer: **I don't own glee or any of its characters.

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**A/N: **So I haven't updated in a while. Sorry about that. But real life gets hectic pretty fast. Thanks for the patience. Thank you to **mhmonkeygirl**, **conventgirlvampire**, **WolfAlpha13**, **kiarcheo, heyalove**, and **Blantantly Anonymous** for their awesome support. I added some band terms for you guys at the end, for those of you who aren't familiar with the band world. Oh, and the show links are up on my profile page! Which shows do YOU like so far? :) Let me know in a review! ...So that I also know this story isn't totally dead :P

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Chapter 6: Understanding

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"You're **ruining** the band experience for the students!"

The weeks that followed the spy session at Carmel spelled a serious change in direction in the running of the marching band.

Practices were more heavily capitalized. A single crescendo out of place resorted in several sets of arduous sectionals. A terrible horn angle or a twitch in muscle at the end of the set was punished with laps, pushups, and any sort of physical torture that the sectional leaders and Drum Major could fix up.

The first week following practice, I quickly climbed up the ladders in the Sax section and became the undisputed section leader. My year at Carmel had paid off. I was much quicker at music and drill memorization than my peers. I drove my section harder than anyone else in the band… In fact, the section became a tight, cohesive unit, as I used Carmel principles to whip every last player into shape.

The dangerous glint that I had seen in Rachel's eye that day as she stared upon Jesse St. James and Carmel became apart of her Drum Major bearing. On the podium, she became untouchable, stern, and a downright drill sergeant. No longer would she let **anyone** get away with a missed practice or set.

But off the field, she was still the same old Rachel. Fun-loving, kind, and beautiful. Sister, father, mother, and brother to every band member who needed a shoulder for support.

But unfortunately, the new, harsh methods drew the scrutiny of the very lax, pacifistic nature of our director, Mr. Schue.

"Pushing students to achieve the best quality of performance is ruining the band experience?" Rachel intoned, crossing her legs and folding her wrists over her lap. Behind her, the whole of the leadership team stood in silent support, facing the furious director.

"_Punishing _them," Schue slammed his hand down on the desk, "isn't going to help anything, Rachel! It's going to make them **hate** you, and then the whole band will be disjointed beneath your leadersh-."

"Mr. Schue, I don't mean any disrespect," Mercedes stepped forward, hand on her hip, "but what you're saying is whack."

"The band kids haven't had **enough** of a challenge," Kurt continued. "During practices we spend at least two hours on drill, then the rest of the two hours we have left resting or playing games. Bonding is important to a **certain** extent, but we're behind the other High Schools in the area by a HUGE margin."

"We're good enough," Schue argued weakly.

"We're good enough for a 2A band, Mr. Schue," I interjected. I felt dark browns looking up at me, sending a chill down my spine. I fought to regain control of my mouth. "But honestly, if you **ever** want to climb up in ranks, we're going to have to pull some serious miracles before the end of the season."

"Right now Carmel's kids are on a five hour a day rehearsal schedule. Their Drum Major is a World Class DCI prodigy. He's been the Drum Major of his Corps for two years running, and he's had enhanced music tutelage," I hesitated for a moment, "he could crush us into the dust."

"I still don't believe that all this is the answer," Schue closed his eyes, running his hands through his ridiculously greased (_sorry, it's true… it had an unnatural glint to it when the fluorescents hit it)_ hair.

"Well I think it's about time that your geeks came up with the **right** answer," a loud, frank voice carried from the doorway.

Against it, dressed in a red track suit, stood the Colorguard Coach, Sue Sylvester.

Sue was famous across Lima for her nationally ranked Winterguard teams. She drove them to absolute excellence through the use of scare tactics (_at least, that's what was said at Carmel)_ and a rigorous workout regimen.

"What do you want, Sue?" Mr. Schue sighed, planting himself in his leather office chair.

"Besides you shaving those ridiculously buttered locks off your scalp?" the Colorguard coach swaggered toward the desk, taking a seat against it. "I want you to pick up the pace, Schuester. My girls… and my fruity gay captain have been ready to take their place in the show for a solid month."

Kurt huffed angrily, muttering angrily under his breath. '_Blaine is not __**fruity**__.'_

"We need to run the routine," Sue carried on, not listening to Kurt's continued ramble, "so that we can make your team of unisex drones look less lame. And that's… that's just not going to happen if you keep preaching about the power of love and being kumbayah."

"It's **hard** to learn four movements in two months, Sue."

"**Hard?**" Sue's face contorted into a mask of rage that had Rachel smiling in amusement. "My Colorguard team has been practicing in snow, sleet, and hail each day for at least five hours each day to perfect their routine and **you** think that getting your drones to walk some ridiculous geometric shapes and blow on hunks of metal at the same time is **hard**?"

Schue cowered slightly against the desk as Sue slammed her fist on the desk. "William Schuester, you **will** learn the show within the month… Or else I will have the **dogs** on you."

After that **interesting **talk, Schue had little problem letting us take over the lesson. And apparently, it had nothing to do with that fact that that very night, a pack of rabid dogs banged and snarled at his door the entire night.

Uniform fittings were soon upon us, which meant the first game of the season (as well as testing grounds for our new show) were close at hand.

Each band member was given an assigned time to come, so the band parents could work individually upon the fitting of that particular kid. It was the only time once a year that I especially dreaded, since band parents had no consideration for your personal space.

I came to my fitting five minutes early, wearing a long sleeved UnderArmour HeatGear shirt with blue PE shorts and a pair of white joggers.

I walked into the band room, fully prepared to see a full legion of parents armed with measuring tapes and pins come rushing toward me (that's how it had always been at Carmel).

Instead, to my absolute horror, it was Rachel Berry that stood near a rack of blood red uniforms and pure black bibbers, measuring tape about her neck and pins in her mouth.

My mouth instantly went dry.

The petite Drum Major wasn't wearing her usual casual, loose-fitting clothing that she parade about on campus in. Nor was she wearing the pair of sweatpants and white t that she donned during rehearsal.

No, God hadn't been merciful in what Rachel Berry, of all people, wore underneath her Marching Uniform. Well… merciful to **me**, at least.

Rachel's finely muscled arms lay uncovered by the sleeveless, red v-neck tank that lay hugging every. damn. curve of her taught abdomen. Impossibly _long_, taut, tanned legs were revealed to my viewing pleasure due to the obscenely small black gym shorts the brunette wore. A red bandana tied up wavy brown locks, showcasing a delicate, deliciously slim neck that begged for kisses to be placed against the column of it.

Oh Jesus **Christ**.

God must have wanted to send me to the innermost depths of **Hell**.

Reddish brown eyes peered over at me, full lips curling in a smile that sent the ever familiar fire burning in my belly, my mouth suddenly drying.

The Drum Major carefully placed the iron in her hand down, pulling the pins from her mouth. "Hey, Quinn! You're just in time. Get over here! The sooner we get you fitted, the sooner you can go back to your life!"

For a while I just stood there, watching as Rachel scrambled over to the closet, sorting through several uniforms. Hazel eyes flickered across her arms, watching each individual strand of muscle slide deliciously across the other… observing a delicate bead of-

'_Oh God… is that __**sweat**__ dripping down her throat...?_' I mentally growned. My fingers twitched as I felt familiar guilt and shame bubble within my chest.

"Uhm, Quinn. I think the fitting would be done faster if you came over here." A dark brow had gone far up into perspiration drenched bangs as she held up a uniform.

I inched forward till I stood before her, grabbing the bibbers numbly from her as she rested against the cheap plastic table where dozens of other uniforms lay marked, sipping an iced coffee nonchalantly.

"No offense," I said, trying to start some sort of conversation so that I wouldn't ruminate over her **amazing **figure, "but I would have figured that Band parents would be doing the fittings. Not the Drum Major."

Rachel chuckled musically, sending another fresh bunch of shivers down my spine. "Well, you see, we don't have that many band parents that come to help. I know how to fit things, since my Dads are pretty amazing at sewing. So I figure it'd save time and money to at least get me to fit 'em."

I slipped the suspender straps over my shoulders, pulling the zipper and clasps up as Rachel held out the dark red jacket for me to put on. I slowly pulled it over my shoulders, ignoring the shocks of electricity from contact with Rachel's soft fingertips as she started to button up the various zips and clasps of the heavy material.

"These bibbers are kinda..." I trailed off.

"Stupidly high? Yeah," Rachel chirruped, snapping the last button into place. "They're more overalls than anything. What's usually your Shako size?"

"Medium," I answered, clasping the neck brace together and pulling on the black pair of gloves that the brunette handed me haphazardly.

"Here ya go," the Drum Major pulled out a shako as red as the uniform, putting it gently on my head and locking the buckle securely under my chin. "Playing position, please."

My hands went to Sax position, Rachel fiddling and pinning the sleeves down several centimeters so the fabric came away cleanly. She fell to her knees, folding up the bottoms of the bibbers and pinning them in place.

Hands came to my shoulders, and as they pinched the fabric, and in turn, brushed against the cuts beneath the fabric (that I had made earlier that day, no less), sending a cry of pain from my lips.

Rachel froze.

Brown eyes looked up at me in confusion as dread filled every pore in my body.

"R-Rachel… I-It was nothing," I desperately sputtered out, moving back several steps, hoping to get away from her.

Tentatively, she unbuckled the jacket of my uniform, pulling it gently from my body and hanging it up on the rack beside me. Suspenders fell from my shoulders and her fingers played with the edge of my sleeve.

"R-Rachel…"

She pulled the sleeve up slowly, earthy brown eyes never once leaving my own as inch by inch, skin appeared.

Lulled into security, I was only once more called into reality as rich brown eyes fell to angry looking gashes on my arm.

"Th-they're not wh-what you th-think," I scrambled for some sort of explanation as I backed away. "I-I just f-fell."

But Rachel didn't speak, she simply stepped closer to me, pulling me away from the door as lithe fingers traced each cut with absolute care.

In the short time I'd known Rachel Berry, I'd learned those fingers… those hands could do many things.

They were the hands of someone who could destroy bone and break flesh, the hands of a talented Saxophone player that dexterously played melodies without fault, the hands of the impassioned singer as they grasped the microphone with emotion, and the hands of a friend and Drum Major that would face the greatest Hells for any friend.

And now they were the hands of the girl I loved… my **best** friend as she looked at me with eyes that were unclouded with pity or contempt. Without a single judgment.

They were merely… sad.

Filled to the brim with some knowing melancholy that I had no idea existed in the soul of this amazing person. Filled with sadness that seemed to age her far beyond her young years.

And I could feel myself break. Break ever so slightly beneath that sad gaze.

Rachel's hand gently found its way to my cheek, wiping away an errant tear I hadn't even known I shed as she gave a sad, knowing smile.

"Oh _Quinn."_

Her voice was filled with such compassion and understanding… the likes of which I'd never seen displayed by any being…

Not even my own parents.

That I broke.

I sobbed, throwing myself into Rachel's arms, shoulders quaking as I felt strong arms surround me and pull me closer to a warm chest.

That day, I cried as Rachel Berry held me, letting out all my shame and sorrow.

That day I felt more safe than I had ever felt before, just standing there in McKinley's crummy band room, wearing uncomfortable band clothing.

And that day I started to truly… madly…

…Fall in love with Rachel Berry.

* * *

**A/N:** Read and review guys! I hope that you all haven't given up hope on me!

**Band Dictionary (For those who are unfamiliar with the band world):**

1.) Drill: The papers (as well as the movements) that the Marching band performs. Each student is represented by a number on a sheet of **drill paper** (it looks like the football field) which tells them where they must be on the field.

2.) Set: A set is a sequence in a drill. The next page of the drill, sort of.

3.) Colorguard: The group that performs intense dance and acrobatic routines and works in harmony with the marching band in visuals. They usually use sabres, rifles, flags, or some other form of prop (I've seen some bands even use hammers). Very athletic.

4.) Winterguard: The winter form of Colorguard made up entirely of visuals without the band.

5.) Section Leaders: The best marcher or player in the section. They have the right to do physical discipline and call meetings to work with their sections.

5.) Bibbers: A pair of pants with a waistband that covers part of the torso till the chest, and held up by suspender straps. This helps keep the band member's pants from falling to the ground, as well as helps to keep undergarments from showing. The jacket that goes on top of this is made of heavy material (think of winter jacket thick) that makes the marcher appear 'sexless' (the performer has to look like his band mates).

6.) Shako: The hat usually worn with a plume (or feather). It usually holds a medallion on the front with chain across the brim.

7.) Drum Major: The person in charge of the band, who runs rehearsals, keeps the section leaders in order, and interprets the music. During a field show, the Drum Major is responsible for setting the tempo through conducting. Is usually garbed in a color opposite to the band or distinguished in some other way (in most bands, the Drum Major is garbed in pure, blinding white). The Drum Major is elected by a board of peers, the colorguard director, as well as the band director. Must be strong musically, academically, and extremely professional.

8.) Marching shoes: Marching shoes are different than the average dress shoe. Some of them are specially made with a sloped heel so that the Marcher has a better 'glide-step' (heel-toe) that allows the bandie to play more smoothly.


End file.
